


The life we've built

by Killermanatee



Series: Gravity [1]
Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Adultery, Established Relationship, F/M, Mentions of Masturbation, Post-Endgame, aging couple, bleak musings, hint of a Eternal Tide spoiler, midlife-crisis, post relaunch novels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 20:13:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15979646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killermanatee/pseuds/Killermanatee
Summary: Chakotay reflects on the life he and Kathryn have created for themselves. It may not have turned out the way he had hoped.





	The life we've built

**Author's Note:**

> "Some things in the universe are constants, but sometimes those constants just don't exist in our universe."  
> ~ Miss_Mil

I love my wife.

 

I know I do.  
I know it like I know my own name. Loving her has been a simple fact of my life for… How long has it been now? Twenty years? Kathryn and I have been together for almost twelve of them, married for six. I always include the year she was gone. I simply can’t convince myself not to, because she never ceased being the one fixed point in my life.

She is just as fierce, just as smart, just as headstrong as the day I met her and I don’t think there is anyone else out there who understands me to the extend she does. The trust between us is absolute. It is born from years of depending on each other, always having each other’s backs. There is nobody I rely on more.

 

But there is also nobody else who can infuriate me the way she does. Arguing and attempting to move past our differences has always been a part of our relationship, and we struggled for years to find a balance between being equals in private while she was my superior on duty.

Quite frankly, the struggle may have ended, but it wasn’t because it was resolved. I simply accepted that it was - is -  in her nature to lead, that she can’t help but take charge and that maybe I would have never fallen for her if that wasn’t the case. Maybe it was also too much to expect she would just accept that I was suddenly more than willing to stand up to her. So we fought, we got angry, we hurt each other but eventually we always found a way to make up.

 

We are Starfleet’s power couple. Both of our records are exemplary, especially since everyone conveniently decided to gloss over my stint as terrorist.

I’m not being fair. Because I am proud of what we have achieved, proud of the respect we’ve earned. I am proud to be her husband and proud that over the past four years we have managed to build this life here on earth together despite all the obstacles we’ve had to face. And it is a good life. Apart from our careers, we have a beautiful home on the shore of Lake Superior, giving us all the privacy and open skies we always dreamed about. We have large offices at Starfleet headquarters, a small but comfortable apartment in San Francisco.

And yet there is always something missing. The loss of being right at that frontline of explorations, out in the galaxy, doing what we dedicated our lives to, weighs heavier on me each day.

When she kisses my cheek and summarizes her day at the office I crave the conflict, the imminent danger of deep space missions, the long nights of weighing pros and cons, contemplating alliances, rescues, scientific exploration. We both excelled under the pressure of lives depending on us, lived for the feeling of being needed, the rush of calling the shots. 

The pleasantries of our lives choke me, raise the hairs at the back of my neck. We are exactly where our careers led us, at the end of the ladder we both kept climbing, and now that we are at the top I keep reaching and find nothing but empty space.

Spending our days at Starfleet headquarters is tedious. At first I was overtaken by pride in my promotion, holding the same rank as Kathryn, the respect my career demands of others. But as the months turned into years I began loathing that desk, the never-ending meetings, the haphazard stacks of padds, the overly eager young cadets waiting for my praise.

 

Not to mention that aging has been hard. Possibly more on me than her. Her body has changed over the years and I feel terrible for having noticed. She tells me she doesn’t mind, that she is confident, but I know how much time she spends training, how focused she is on eating well. She still carries herself with grace, plans the party for her upcoming sixtieth birthday, wears every grey hair and deeper line with honor, like the badge on her chest. She is Starfleet through and through, and seeing her in this role fills me with pride despite the part that wonders how much that leaves of _my_ Kathryn.

I have tried out a beard, shaved it off again. I let my hair grow longer, cropped it close to my scalp only to grow it out once more. I have gone back and forth between allowing it to go grey and coloring it. Kathryn teases me about the changes, and even though I know she doesn’t mean anything by it, her comments about the signs of my midlife crisis sting. I don’t want to be in crisis and I certainly don’t want to have reached the halfway point of my existence.

Of course I am aware that people used to think about retirement at my age. I hate knowing that, because it makes me feel even older than I am. When it bothers me the most I run just a few miles further, hit the bag just a little harder, add a few more weights to the bar. Not that it seems to help much anymore.

So I just trudge on, go wherever Starfleet needs me to go, whenever they say. We attend the conferences and celebrations as Admirals Janeway and Chakotay. Her name always coming first.

I hate that little misogynistic voice in the back of my head that demands to be the archetype of the strong man, that primal need to provide for my woman. I hate the part of me that wants to be in charge and wants to lead and decide where we go. It’s outdated and sexist and goes absolutely nowhere. Nevertheless it nags at me to know that no matter how hard I try, I will never outdo her.

But I just take a deep breath and walk one step behind her, the same way I always have.

 

Somewhere between our dedication to Starfleet, chores around the house, caring for Gretchen and our individual hobbies, every now and then we find a sliver of intimacy. On those rare occasions when we move beyond good-morning- or farewell-kisses, I still see a hint of the fire that used to be there.

Those chances are few and far between. We’ve talked about it, tried to work on making time, agreeing to dates for just the two of us, but nothing ever sticks. In the end we always go back to our regulated lives that often leave us sleeping at different hours, sending us to appointments around the quadrant and cause our conversations to rarely touch upon anything truly personal.

I would like to think of myself as more sophisticated than resorting to generic pornography to find sexual release. But in the end, it turns out I am just the same as everyone else, aroused by the same obscene images of women much too young for me, moaning and whimpering, their genitals crudely on display.

A few times I have made use of the holo suites, when the frustration was too much, when Kathryn had brushed me aside, when I needed to prove something to myself. The experiences weren’t much better than those I’ve had in the past. They took the edge off, but never helped to tame the restlessness that has been growing along my bones. So I stopped going and went back to the simplicity of videos, their ease of access and lack of time I need to devote to them their biggest perk.

Sometimes, when I quietly sneak into the shower early in the morning, doing my best not to wake Kathryn, my thoughts drift back to those first few years of being together. Of ducking into each other’s quarters when we simply had to feel skin against bare skin, of choosing sex over sleep, of wanting each other so much we actually tore our clothes. I recall rushed sex against walls, neither of us caring about bruises and scrapes. I remember trying to find our limits, seeing just how many times we could bring each other to orgasm in one night.

Sometimes, surrounded by the buzz of the sonic shower, I still climax thinking about her. 

 

I love my wife.

But in the end, despite that love, despite our history, despite knowing that she is my other half, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised to find myself sitting in this bar, ten light years away, these ruminations fading, ordering more drinks for me and the beautiful woman across from me, I have only just met.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have been working on this for months and finally here it is.  
> A big thank you to Miss_Mil and Helen8462 for the brainstorming and input.  
> Another round of thanks to Little_Obsessions for her wonderful beta-work.  
> And then of course eternal thanks to BlackVelvet42 for being such a kind and supportive friend.


End file.
